My Immortal - My Personal OC Insert
by Shadow's Firebird
Summary: So...this story. Everybody knows it by now, right? If not, it's worth the read for at least a few chapters simply because it is a piece of fanfiction history. Upon reading it, I was filled with the overwhelming desire to try inserting a relatively normal person into the story, so that's what I did. If you've got the gumption, feel free to follow Adrian into this literary cess pool.
1. Preamble

**REAL QUICK FIRST:** The first 8 or 9 chapters were all written before I uploaded this, so I'm just gonna post them all at once. I plan to write actual responses in my Preambles and Footnotes to your comments and whatnot in the future. Also, as opposed to my current pattern due to my schedule as of late, I'm going to try and reply to people's reviews when they leave them. Thanks!

**Preamble:**

**Thanks muchly to TheJadedDolphin for reposting this story. You two are so charming. :D**

**My fiancée read the first ten chapters of this story to me over the phone, and I was literally crying with laughter. For the last three days, I've been plagued by ideas that I've had to create an OC and insert them into this crazy, horribly illiterate world, so that's what I did.**

**I kind of feel guilty for making fun of Tara so much, because she is a real person out there somewhere, but I'm going to end up doing a lot of it, so I hope I make enough people laugh to make up for it. I also hope you won't label me as an asshole for this! XD**

**Anywho, I wanted to create a character that was sort of a compilation of my favorite traits in characters, much as Ebony (Enoby, Eboby, Ebooby, Egoby, etc.) is to Tara, without it becoming a Mary-Sue. However, my favorite kind of character tends to lean towards realism to a fair degree, so I hope I don't eff this up too badly. I also plan to insert myself in bold a little if I find that I can't restrain myself, and I'm going to try and replicate Tara's organizational format to the best of my abilities, except a lot more verbose and detailed.**

**Also, my character is a guy, because that's just funnier.**

**Please tell me what you think! :D**

Disclaimer: The Harry Potter franchise is property of J.K. Rowling, who I am not. "My Immortal" the fanfic is property of Tara Gilepsi (I think that's how it's spelled…), though she probably doesn't have a copyright on it. At least, I hope not.

Also, you should probably read "My Immortal" before you read this.

Chapter 1.

AN: Special fangz (get it, coz Im goffik) 2 my gf (ew not in that way) raven, bloodytearz666 4 helpin me wif da story and spelling. U rok! Justin ur da luv of my deprzzing life u rok 2! MCR ROX! **(Aww, how adorable and obligatorily heterosexual. I am under the impression that her buddy Raven may have intentionally mucked up the spelling just to mess with Tara. That, or she is perhaps less literate than Tara.)**

Hello, my name is Adrian Henry Dufrane, and I wear glasses and have long, tawny colored hair (kind of a dirty caramel color really, like the kind of dust that builds up on old appliances in your garage when you live on a dirt road), that falls erratically in my face and is usually rather unkempt, no matter how aggressively I brush it—I usually keep it in a ponytail for that reason—and it hangs down to the middle of my back. I have sleepy brown eyes like a Hershey bar half-burnt, half covered in what is hopefully peanut butter, and a lot of people tell me that I look like Brad Pitt, but I sincerely believe that they are joking. I look more like Angelina than Brad. I'm not related to Andy Dufrane from The Shawshank Redemption because he is, of course, a fictional character created by Stephen King, but I wish I was related to him because Stephen King is a literary god among men and that would make me one of this privileged children. I am a human and my teeth are straight, a bit off-color, but pearly for the most part. I have pale white skin (with some freckles, red patches due to my allergies, and the occasional blackhead). I'm also a wizard, and I go to a magic school in England called Hogwarts, at which I am currently attending my seventh year. (I'm seventeen years, four months, twenty-one days, sixteen hours, eleven minutes, and fifty-eight seconds old. Fifty-nine seconds. Twelve minutes and zero seconds. One second.) I'm a Steampunk guy (as far as fashion goes. My general interests are actually pretty well-rounded) and I wear mostly beige, green, gold, black, and brown, because I think it looks good with my skin and hair. I love Goodwill and I buy my clothes from there, along with a lot of other useless junk that I enjoy tinkering with. For example, today I was wearing a soft yellow dress shirt, a black vest, white pants, a pair of brown lace-up boots with about half and inch of extra heel that I wear over my pants (because I feel like an eighteenth-century British soldier like that, and it makes me feel cool), and a black ribbon tied around the elastic band in my hair.

I was walking outside Hogwarts. It was snowing and raining—which, if happening simultaneously, is called sleeting—so there was no sun [clearly visible behind the heavy clouds], which I was sort of depressed about because it meant that my stony dungeon dorm room wasn't going to be very warm that evening. A lot of preps stared at me. I'm not quite sure what a prep is, which led this analysis of them to confuse me, because I had labeled them a term that I did not even know the meaning of. I suppose…we can call them unnecessarily judgmental people, for the sake of simplicity. UJPs for short. A lot of UJPs were staring at me, but based on their nondescript stares, I couldn't really tell if they were UJPs at all. Most of them I smiled at, and a few I waved to, assuming that their inquisitive looks were just benignly curious. Several waved back pleasantly.

I probably should also mention a few other important things about myself before this goes too far into more recollection of events. When I was eleven years old, a situation saturated with peer pressure led me to start smoking, which was incredibly stupid of me, and I have been ever since. I've been trying to quit since I was fifteen, but the stress of managing school, being away from my family here, and the whole threat of the Dark Lord lurking around every corner has made it quite difficult. As of today, it's been two months since I've had a cigarette. I've been feeling absolutely awful some days and I've gained about eight pounds at least from all the snack-substituting I've been doing, but I'm very proud of myself.

I've also been battling with my sexuality since I was old enough to care about those things, but my parents are pretty indifferent on the subject and at this time, I don't classify myself on either definite end of the "gay or straight" spectrum.

"Hey Adrian!" A voice shouted, inclining me to look up. Draco Malfoy was hurrying over to me from across the lawn.

"Hello, Draco," I greeted. "What's up?"

"Nothing." he replied shyly, though I was curious as to why he was so timid. He lacked a lot of the cocky arrogance that usually defined his spoiled personality. Not to mention that he was behaving weirdly bashful for having already known me the entire seven years we'd gone to Hogwarts together. We were in the same house after all.

I was going to offer a reply, but several of my friends were calling me from within the building. Not wanting to ignore an obligation to my closest comrades, I said a polite, chipper goodbye to Draco and hurried back inside, guilty to leave him but incredibly thankful to be out of that awful sleet.

**Today's rewrite was brought to you by the letter 2 and the word SLEET.**

**Please review! :D**


	2. Sleet and Stuff

**This is fun so far. It's hard not to be verbose, though I guess most things are verbose in contrast to the original work. Also, I'm going to come across as sort of a douche in the future, so I hope I don't upset anyone.**

**I have also decided to keep all of Tara's original dialogue for every character besides Adrian, spelling and all (though I'll replace any variation of Ebony with Adrian). Good luck reading! XD**

Chapter 2.

AN: Fangz 2 bloodytearz666 4 helpin me wif da chapta! BTW preps stop flaming ma story ok! (I believe "preps" is synonymous for "jackasses" in Tara's world.)

The next day, I woke up in my four-poster, shivering despite the many layers of blankets that I had packed around myself. To my dismay, it was still snowing and/or raining outside, though from my windowless room in the dungeon, it was hard to tell if it was sleeting. I undid the curtains of my bed, reminded for some reason of the door to a coffin, and stepped out onto the floor, taking a swig of a bottle of blood I had brought with me to the school. I then proceeded to gag sharply, startled by the horrible flavor, and rush clumsily to the bathroom, throwing up a fair deal of the blood into the sink and scrubbing my tongue until I was sure there were no taste buds left. What on earth was blood doing in my bag?! Where the hell was my cranberry juice and my iced tea?! Shaken, I wordlessly threw the bottle in the trash can and decided not to reflect on it any further, instead taking to admiring my custom bedspread. Though we were usually supposed to maintain patriotism with the Slytherin green and silver, Professor Snape (after enough pestering and petitions by hyperactive girls with oodles of their favorite blankets) gave every Slytherin student the privilege to decorate their four-poster however they wanted, and mine was no exception. Everything was deep crimson and violet with gold trimming, because it sort of creates the atmosphere of a sunset, which I find soothing (It also tends to lead me to have more sensual dreams, but that's my guilty little secret). I walked to my dresser and took off my overlarge Ed, Edd n' Eddy T-shirt—one of many hand-me-downs from my mother that I liked to use as pajamas (though it was a little short, due to me being taller than her, but she's a pretty heavyset gal), and a great reminder of one of the cartoons that to this day still tickles my inner child. I put on a sage tank top with a zip-up black hooded knit sweater, a pair of slightly worn brown skinny jeans, a pair of black, felt, high-top boots (I can't help my love of effeminate shoes.) and a thin, brown, leather choker necklace that fastened in the back. I brushed out my hair, discarded the dead strands that built up in the bristles, and decided to let my hair hang on my shoulders, though I brought an elastic band with me for mealtimes, because this shit gets everywhere when there's food present.

My friend, Willow (though why I had been placed in a girl's dormitory, I never knew. I had considered frequently over these many years that the Sorting Hat could pick out the future fruits among the newcomers and alerted Dumbledore so he could separate us accordingly.) woke up at that moment and grinned at me. She flipped her long, waist-length, black hair the color of coal, ravens, ink, night, darkness, ebony, licorice, tar, etc., which bore pink streaks, and opened her forest-green eyes. I turned away respectfully while she put on her Marilyn Manson T-shirt with a black mini-something-that-I-am-assuming-is-a-skirt, fishnets, and pointy high-heeled boots. I watched her put on her makeup (black lipstick, white foundation, and black eyeliner) whilst wondering just how she didn't freeze her skinny, hairless little legs off outside dressed like that. I mean, she was even too "hip" to wear a coat unless it was black, velvet, and covered in black/blood red rhinestones or feathers.

"OMFG, I saw you talking to Draco Malfoy yesterday!" she blurted once her lipstick was properly applied.

I raised an eyebrow dubiously. "We didn't even really talk. We exchanged about seven words and one inexplicit farewell before I had to run back inside. I think that was the first conversation I've had with him in about a week."

"Do you like Draco?" she asked as we ascended from our dormitories, left the Slytherin common room, and headed toward the Great Hall.

"I suppose I do." I responded indifferently. The question didn't provoke a lot of thought with me. Of course I liked Draco. I mean, he could be kind of a prick, but that was somewhat typical of people ambitious and audacious enough to be in Slytherin House. We had known each other for years, so tolerating his occasional rudeness came easily to me.

"Yeah right!" she retorted. Just then, Draco trotted up to greet Willow and I.

"Hi." he said.

"Good morning," I replied cheerfully. (I'm somewhat of a morning person. I find that that tends to deeply aggravate some of the dim, depressing people in this school.)

"Guess what." he prodded.

I was moderately curious. "What?"

"Well, Good Charlotte are having a concert in Hogsmeade."

"Oh, that's cool!" I chirped. I wasn't too familiar with Good Charlotte, and concerts really weren't my thing, but I've made it sort of a personal policy to always sound enthusiastic when friends share something with me that they want me to be impressed by. I feel that it's polite.

He was blushing, which perplexed me a bit. "Well…. do you want to go with me?"

Before I could process the tell-tale rosiness of his cheeks or the timid demeanor with which he approached me, I inhaled sharply in a manner expressive of mild surprise.

**This is more of a self-indulgence sort of spiel for me, since writing a story like this, especially where all of the outcomes are already pre-determined, is basically like eating a microwave TV dinner instead of preparing a real meal for my literary consumption. I've only read up to the eleventh chapter so far, so I hope that this isn't too boring. It's mostly a big bucket of time-consuming fun for me! :D**


	3. Nonsensical Muggle Things

**It's almost midnight. I should be asleep, but this is fun. Mehhh…fuck it, I'm gonna write as much as I can this evening, until I pass out in my chair. :D**

Chapter 3.

AN: STOP FLAMMING DA STORY PREPZ OK! odderwize fangs 2 da goffik ppl 4 da good reveiws! FANGS AGEN RAVEN! oh yeah, BTW I don't own dis or da lyrics 4 Good Chralotte. **(Your black and white view of the world is interesting, especially considering that your "good" appears to be the "black". Get it? Because she's gothic? Oops, my mistake, goffik. Gotta remember that double "f".)**

On the night of the concert, I wanted to get dressed up at least a little fancy out of respect for Draco. I didn't remember ever agreeing to go, or even responding to the question, but somehow, the tow-headed boy had gotten the idea that I had said yes, and frankly, Draco was just too decent a guy for me to disappoint. He was at least nice to me if not students from the other houses, and he'd helped me out in the past in various trivial situations, so why wouldn't I go to a concert with him? It might even be fun.

I pulled on a soft, baby blue cotton T-shirt with the phrase "GANGSTER" scrawled across in black cursive with a Fedora hat, a 1930's revolver, and a case of cigars around it. I thought it was pretty clever, given today's fads. I wasn't entirely sure what to wear to a concert, given that this was probably only the second one I'd ever been to, so I tugged on some plain back jeans and laced up my brown lounging shoes (sort of like tennis shoes, but more dressy and too thin for running) with all this leather stuff on the back and front. I put on a watch on my arm, and on that watch I put on my arm on, there was an engraving on the side on the band, reading "Audentes fortuna iuvat", a famous quote from the author Virgil, meaning "Fortune favors the bold". I attempted to straighten my hair, failed miserably and burned two of my knuckles, then tied my hair up in a playful sort of ponytail high up on my head. For some inexplicable reason at that moment, I felt depressed. I thought that it could be my lack of interest in the concert, but no, after rethinking a bit, I confirmed that I as actually relatively excited to go; it had been nearly a decade since my last concert, as far as I remembered. Was I depressed because I was concerned that I didn't look good? Was I reacting to something I ate? Whatever the reason, I felt a sharp deflate in my mood, and strangely enough, saw my nearby shaving razor on the bathroom counter and considered slitting my wrist. Then I shivered. I can't bear the thought of slicing my own flesh, mostly because of the texture, but also due to the awful emotions that tend to spark that kind of self-mutilation. I pity people so upset and detached from pleasantness that they need to bleed to release their stress and to feel better. It's truly an unfortunate circumstance that some people really do fall into.

I read a small chunk of a children's book (not looking for something to commit deeply to and hoping for an upbeat story to lift my mood) while I waited for my burn to heal and I listened to some Heart and The Veronicas. I find that lust-driven, empowered-sounding girl bands help get me in the mood to party. I painted four of my nails black before deciding that it completely contrasted with my outfit, then I used TONS of alcohol remover to get it off. Then I put on some lemonade-flavored Chapstick, which I licked at unconsciously while looking for something to drink. I grabbed what I hoped was a bottle of cranberry juice but, skeptical of its validity as something not drained from the insides of humans and unwilling to taste it and find out, I abandoned it, and deemed myself ready to go to the concert.

I walked out of the dorms, through the lobby of the castle, and outside, where Draco was waiting in front of his flying car. For a good twenty minutes, I was utterly dumbstruck, and could not possibly keep myself from interrogating the poor fellow. How on Earth had he gotten a Muggle car to fly?! And for that matter, where did he get a Muggle car? Why was a pureblood such as himself driving something like this? Did his father know about this car? Did the Ministry know about it? Was he worried that he was going to be in trouble for having it? Did he abduct it from the Forbidden Forest and remodel it so it was unrecognizable from the car that Ron and Harry had driven into the Whomping Willow five years ago? By the time I had rendered myself breathless, it was clear that I'd irritated him a little, but he didn't seem all that bothered. A tad embarrassed, I apologized and casually looked him over. He was wearing a Simple Plan T-shirt (who, though I didn't know at the time, would also be playing that evening), baggy black skater pants, black nail polish, and a little eyeliner (AN: A lot fo kewl boiz wer it okay!). Without warning, I shrieked, quickly covering my mouth in response to my involuntary noise. There was some strange voice in my head! Some voice that interjected into my recountings with blurted, highly illiterate snippets of speech! It was startling, but I managed to recollect myself without much delay.

"Hello, Draco!" I greeted with enthusiasm; generally, a "!" expresses enthusiasm, therefore it is nearly impossible to say something ending with a "!" in a "depressed voice".

"Hi Adrian," he said back. We walked into his flying black Mercedes-Benz, then yelped as our bodies collided painfully with the metal hull. Embarrassed and a little sore, we bent down and then climbed into the car, sitting down in the faux leather seats, and soared to the concert hall. On the way, we listened to Good Charlotte, and I found that I actually quite liked them. They were sort of a combination between Green Day and My Chemical Romance from what I heard, and I very much like both of those bands. Draco offered me a cigarette, but I declined, still trying to keep up my abstinence from them. He lit it up and took a puff regardless, and I quickly reached over and rolled down his window, giving him a somewhat irritated and incredulous look, though honestly, I didn't expect much less from him. When we arrived, Draco parked his car [in a place where hopefully no Ministry officials would find it] and we walked inside, my blonde companion stomping his cigarette out on the ground. He led me through the crowded concert hall, into the area where Good Charlotte was performing, and tugged me into the mosh pit near the front of the stage. The noise and chaotic meshing of bodies around me was overwhelming, and I felt very uncomfortable, but I tried to stay near Draco and at least pretend that I wasn't bothered. The sounds of the lead singer's voice echoed around the room, powering into the ears of the hundreds of bouncing, singing, laughing bodies.

"You come in cold, you're covered in blood  
They're all so happy you've arrived  
The doctor cuts your cord, hands you to your mom  
She sets you free into this life."

"His name is Joel, right?" I shouted to Draco, gesturing to the man on stage, hoping the shorter boy could hear me over the roar of the music. "He's quite talented! I like him!"

A rather downtrodden look appeared on Draco's face.

I grew a bit worried. "Is something wrong? Do you want to move away from the stage?" Perhaps he wasn't sure if I was having fun or not. I tried to reassure him. "Hey, thanks for inviting me to come with you, Draco! This is great!"

"Really?" Draco asked with a flicker of relief. He then stepped a bit closer to me, trying to worm his arm around me through the mess of jumping flesh that kept knocking us around. His hand connected with my side, and I felt a bit uneasy. He was being pretty chummy for someone who I didn't often talk to.

"Uh, yeah," I replied with an awkward smile, scooting away a bit. No busting a move, mister. Just because people might think I'm a little fruity doesn't mean you can get all cuddly with me like you're my sugar daddy. Besides, we were here as friends, right?

We enjoyed ourselves most of the evening, despite Draco's subtle attempts at flirting with me, though I didn't recognize them as such at first. It was still kind of fun, and I liked Draco, but he's honestly just not my type. He's a little self-centered and kind of a milquetoast when it comes to pain and controversy. After the concert, Draco drank a beer and I managed to snag a can of Sun Drop from a vending machine. We made a desperate attempt at getting autographs and photos with Good Charlotte, but the line was horrendous, and we didn't want to be waiting all night. We settled on buying a couple of T-shirts (er, Draco got a T-shirt. I bought a case for my quills, since mine was really busted and it was fun to get a momento.) and walked back to Draco's Mercedes-Benz. Not only had he managed to bewitch a flying car beyond the knowledge of his politically brown-nosing father, but the car was an elite, luxurious brand. Though admittedly, Draco was known for nothing if not his resourcefulness. I couldn't help but smile as I climbed back into the car. We chatted for a while about the concert, reflecting rather happily on the atmosphere and some of the crazy happenings in the mosh pit, and I didn't realize until we had been in the car for nearly twenty minutes that we were not headed toward the school, but toward an enormous, nearly endless mass of ominous, gnarled trees and vines. The Forbidden Forest…?

**It's pretty hard to switch back and forth between past and present tense, but I guess most grammatical errors can sort of be excused, given the nature of the story. I can just say that I was parodying her style. XD**

**I hope you guys like this! Please review! :D**


	4. This Just Got Serious

**Thanks so much for reading, whoever is! I'm kind of typing all of these chapters out before ever posting them, so at this point, I'm not even sure who has read them yet. I hope people are entertained! :D**

**This is the chapter with that little dilapidated chunk of lemon, but I plan on expanding on it further. For that reason, I think I'm going to bump the story's rating up to M.**

**Also, Tara was determined to make her character a depressed little youth, so this story is full of random emotional deflation that is disconnected from actual events. However, I want to see what connections I can make psychologically between events that SHOULD make a character depressed and the scenes where my character is supposed to be depressed.**

**I hope I don't strike any nerves.**

**Perhaps you want to have "My Immortal" and this story open side by side so you can compare the two? XD**

**Enjoy! :D**

Chapter 4.

AN: I sed stup flaming ok ebony's name is ENOBY nut mary su OK! DRACO IS SOO IN LUV wif her dat he is acting defrent! dey nu eechodder b4 ok! **(Whatever drugs you and Draco were smoking in the last chapter still seem to be lingering.)**

The trees shot up around us as we descended quickly, and I had to choke down my rapidly pounding heart as the car smacked into innumerable trunks and branches, finally plopping to a halt among the expansive roots. I was shakily digging into the upholstery, face stark white and sweat soaking my hair and back. As I turned my attention to my companion behind the wheel, I was dumbstruck to see that he seemed totally unfazed by our chaotic landing.

"Draco!" I yelped hoarsely, trying to compose myself. "What the hell are we doing in here? This place is a death trap if you're only including the trees, not to mention the myriad of killer beasts and sentient, war-fueled races that love to lynch plucky little blokes like us! Why are we here?!"

The blonde wordlessly turned off the car and stepped out of it, shutting the door calmly behind him. I was nearly crippled with fear at the idea of walking around in the Forbidden Forest with nothing by my wand to protect me, but it was evident that Draco wasn't thinking clearly. Fearing that whatever drugs he had done this evening were affecting his judgement, I followed him, stepping gingerly up to him with as much caution as I could muster.

"Are you okay? What's going on?" I whispered with whatever aplomb I was able to desperately gather.

"Adrian?" he asked placidly, peering back at me.

I was a little concerned, mingling with a feeling of perturbation. "Yes?"

Without warning, he leaned in close, his eyes glimmering crimson with the contacts he'd put in before the concert. How hadn't I noticed them before now? His expression exuded maliciousness and betrayed a sharp twinge of regret, perhaps even depression. For a moment, I inexplicably stopped worrying and felt almost complacent, but my common sense quickly overtook that and rekindled the wariness that it felt appropriate for this situation.

Then suddenly, he grabbed my sleeve and began to kiss me fervently. I gasped into his lips, immediately pushing him off, but he wasn't deterred. He forced me back against a tree and climbed up onto my shoulders, trying to kiss me, but I was able to push his thighs up and he fell back on his head. Slightly dazed but still riddled with passion, he cornered me and resumed kissing me, struggling to lift up my shirt. I squirmed, pushing at his wrists, but despite my superior height, he was stronger than me. He managed to tug my shirt up over my head and tossed it to the ground. I was trembling, trying hard not to break down crying as a feeling of helplessness began to consume me, but to my shock, he stopped. He simply stood before me, motionless, occasionally eyeing my unclothed chest but primarily watching my eyes. What did he expect of me? Was he trying to make a point by pinning and stripping me? Whatever he was up to, I found myself getting incredibly nervous through my confusion, given our surroundings. I was sure that some beast was just behind us, waiting for the right opportunity to pounce and devour our supple human flesh.

As I reflected on this, I noticed Draco rolling his eyes. Evidently, he was waiting for me to start taking off his clothes, so, receiving no such response from me, he took off his own shirt, shoes, socks, and dropped his pants. I wanted to scream, stupefied at his utter idiocy, and question why the hell he thought it was a good idea to disrobe in the middle of the Forbidden Forest, but was disrupted by the sight of his…ah…the, dare I say "thingy", erect and eager below his waist. He hadn't worn underwear, perhaps anticipating this attack on me the entire evening. It would explain why he spontaneously asked me to go to a concert without the two of us being very close (given that we barely converse) and why he had sort of assumed I was going whether he got a "yes" out of me or not, the drugs he'd tried to give me in the car, and why he'd taken a car, a vehicle I couldn't easily escape from, rather than something more practical. Most people walk to Hogsmeade from the school anyway, don't they?

I considered pulling out my wand and cursing Draco, but his pureblooded influence made me falter. If I hurt him and he went to his father about it, then I could be expelled from the school immediately. On top of it, what if Draco told people that I had tried to attack him? No one could see what was happening in the forest here, and if I got a reputation for molesting other students (which seemed more likely than Draco molesting me, given that I'm taller and a bit more skilled at wandwork than he is) then not only my school life, but my entire social life could collapse. I could be put on the "sex offenders" list, and I would never be able to accomplish my goal of becoming a teacher here at Hogwarts. An encumbering amount of paranoia gripped me, and, feeling helpless to do otherwise, I simply permitted Draco to touch me, hoping not to invoke his vindictive nature. Apprehension boiled in my veins as I watched him undo my jeans, and I felt hot tears dribbling down my cheeks. So many fears were racing through my mind. Was I going to lose my virginity that night? Was I going to be killed before that happened?

"Oh…oh, oh…" I whimpered, unable to murmur many coherent words. He pulled off my jeans, shoes, and underwear, then lifted my thighs up onto his own, positioning himself. I bit my lip, nails digging into the tree behind me, glasses sliding down my nose, waiting with a hideous sense of impatience for him to sheath himself and steal my innocence. Warm, eager kisses peppered my neck and chest as he slowly slipped inside me, and I fought the temptation to start sobbing. At that moment though, a loud shout broke though the night, disrupting the heavy tenseness that the forest seemed to hold.

"WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING YOU MOTHERFUKERS!"

Two pairs of eyes—one glazed with need and the other misty with a pathetic attempt at choking back tears—met the powerful azure gaze of a furious Albus Dumbledore.

**Wow, sorry for all that. I guess I really like the dynamics of a rape scene. The psychology of a victim is so fascinating, and really, given the evidence, doesn't it seem like Draco was trying to rape Enoby and was simply lucky enough to find her willing? It's a little messed up when you add everything together.**

**I'll try not to make this so grim in the future!**

**Review please! :D**


	5. Ludacris Emotions

**Hallo, peoples! :D**

**Thanks so much to the people that have been reading this! Your support is greatly appreciated, and warrants lots of cookies! I will bake them as I write this story! XD**

**Uh…yep! Just watched Rise of the Guardians. Can't focus, too busy fangirling. Here's the next chapter.**

Chapter 5

AN: STOP flaming! if u flam it menz ur a prep or a posr! Da only reson Dumbledeor swor is coz he had a hedache ok an on tup of dat he wuz mad at dem 4 having sexx! PS im nut updating umtil I get five good revoiws! **(Oh, just a headache? Why didn't you say so earlier? This changes everything.)**

I was released from where I was pinned against the tree and, after quickly gathering my clothes, skittered after Dumbledore, Draco just ahead of me. The enraged scolding that the elderly wizard dealt at us made me cringe.

"You ludacris fools!" He bellowed.

For a moment, I wondered if he meant "ludicrous", the word meaning ridiculous, or "Ludacris" the rapper, but I was too shaken to ponder it for long. I felt fresh tears welling up in my eyes, but to my utter horror, their mass made a line of crimson along my vision. I touched them and found that I was crying blood. My face was pallid with shock and panic, but my shaky, fretful babbling went unnoticed, aside from a barely sorry Draco who attempted to comfort me, but whose hand I immediately shoved away in ire. After a very, very long walk, (which confused me because Dumbledore could have easily made Draco drive back to the castle) the headmaster took us to see Professors Snape and McGonagall, whom looked quite angry. I assumed that McGonagall had seen Draco's car go smashing through the trees on the outskirts of the forest, and thus informed the headmaster and our house head, as was protocol.

"They were having sexual intercourse in the Forbidden Forest!" Dumbledore howled, uncharacteristically angry for his usual demeanor regarding misconduct.

"Why did you do such a thing, you mediocre dunces?" demanded McGonagall

"How dare you?" Snape added in a snarl.

I was shaking hard, and could barely find the words to speak. Not only was I probably going to get in trouble for unauthorized sex that wasn't even consensual, but two teachers and a headmaster that I respected very much were glaring at me with deep aggression and disappointment. At the look in Snape's eyes in particular—whom I favored due to my love of potions and his inexorably imperious demeanor—had my throat tightening and my lip quivering, and while choking back sobs, I tried to speak and respond to their exclamations, but Draco cut me off with a startling shriek.

"BECAUSE I LOVE HER!"

The room was dead silent, save for the hyperventilation reflexes that were starting to wrap their ruthless tendrils around my helpless lungs. What on earth was wrong with Malfoy? He claimed he loved me? And he called me a "her"! The asshole had me pinned naked against a tree and he didn't even have the consideration to acknowledge my manhood?! My mind was shaken with a juxtaposition of frustration and rage, and I couldn't fight the hot tears brimming on my eyelids any longer. Clear drops overtook the fearfully inhuman red, and I watched McGonagall snarl in disgust at the two of us.

Professor Snape, surprisingly however, seemed more sympathetic. "Fine. Very well. You may go up to your rooms."

Three identically disapproving glares burned at our backs as we walked up…erm…well, since our dorms were in the dungeons and I wasn't really sure where we'd had that conversation, we sort of wandered around until we managed to get back to the Slytherin common room. As we approached the door, Draco paused, and, despite the fact that I wasn't quite done crying and certainly wasn't done being furious at him, I stopped.

"Are you okay, Adrian?" He asked gently.

"I…" I swallowed hard. What was I even supposed to say to a guy I barely talked to who took me on a date, raped me in the Pandora's Box of a forest on the outskirts of school grounds, then professed his love for me in front of the most high-ranking officials in Hogwarts, all of whom I had developed moderately personal relationships with. I shook my head, biting my lip, and tried to hide the far too evident tears curling down my flushed cheeks. "Just…please go."

I slunk back into the girls' dorm and shut the door behind me, then made my way to the bathroom. The unyielding desire for a shower gripped me, so I spent a long time just standing under the hot water, feeling my thick hair being forced down against my skin, the numerous tree bark cuts on my back stinging beneath the spray. Even if it had been present only for a brief moment, the hideously invasive sensation of Draco's length slipping into me was still lingering in my mind. I hadn't been prepared, so I was dry and my skin stuck to his with an agonizing roughness. The slight pain around that area was not unfelt, but I tried hard to ignore it. After my shower, I brushed my teeth and hair, then changed into a knee-length, one-hundred percent cotton, white night shirt, pulling on a clean pair of underwear to replace the ones that had been sullied on the forest floor. When I came out…

…Draco was waiting in front of the bathroom, and he started to sing "I Just Wanna Live" by Good Charlotte. I didn't know the song, I didn't care about his singing, and I didn't care about whatever romantic intentions were fueling his vocalization. The point was that he had raped me, and, pureblood or not, my anger was still boiling prominently in my mind. It took all I had not to punch his smarmy, sallow little face until blood gushed from most of the orifices. With a weak, half-held snarl, I shut the bathroom door and passed him by, watching him turn and reluctantly head back to his room. At that moment, I realized that I was completely alone, not even my dorm mates present (as they had probably also gone to the concert and were most likely out partying). Unafraid of being judged, I slumped back on my bed, shakily inhaled, and began to quietly cry.

**Remember what I said about trying not to be depressing?**

**Yeah, kinda forget that. That doesn't seem to be happening.**

**Anyway, I still want to let you guys knows how much I love you all! Your support is truly what drives me, and I can't wait to work on more of this fic! :D**


	6. Lugubrious and Dubious

**Guh, I'm never going to be able to write a good fic if I don't learn how to make one that doesn't ooze utterly dismal and lugubrious content.**

**Google lugubrious. Shit is a fucking awesome word.**

**Anyway, my writing schedule has basically boiled down to whenever the hell I feel like writing but don't want to mentally commit to anything. I'm trying to keep it up.**

**Although still, I haven't posted any chapters yet. Maybe I should get around to doing that.**

**Either way, to those who are actually reading this, enjoy! :D**

Chapter 6.

AN: shjt up prepz ok! PS I wnot update ubtil u give me goood revows! **(I haven't even given my initial vows, so you're going to have to wait a while before you get the re-versions of those. My apologies; I hope people with my problem haven't hindered your update schedule.)**

After a tumultuous and fruitless sleep, I woke up groggily in my four-poster, a fair deal of sweat adhering my nightgown to my bony chest. I slithered from beneath the covers to my personal trunk in my best "exhausted Slytherin" manner and dug for something decent to wear. Stripping down to my underwear while searching helped shake me into consciousness a bit more, what with the biting winter chill being so poignant in the dungeons. However, I was now faced with the irritating issue of finding a shirt that concealed my now hardened nipples. I pulled on a thicker lavender sweater after some deliberation (owning mostly dress shirts and thin cotton—not so good for nipple-hiding) and pulled a pair of black jeans on under it, along with some incredibly comfy blue fleece socks and gray moccasins. I didn't have any classes outside that day, so why the hell not dress all warm and snuggly? It certainly made me feel better after the shitty night I'd had. I brushed out my slightly damp hair and pulled it into a low, lazy ponytail, and even pulled on one of my favorite beanies to keep my head warm in its white, fluffy softness. Despite how sweaty I had been when I woke up, my body seemed plenty dry and warm beneath this garb, as the cold had probably shocked a fair deal of the sweat off of me. Satisfied, I snuggle-slithered my way up the stairs to the Great Hall, taking particular enjoyment in rubbing my fuzzy sleeves on my tired face.

Sitting down at the table, I tried to pour myself a bowl of cereal from a box which heralded "Count Chocula", but found that when I tipped milk from a silver jug, my breakfast was not doused in cow excretions but in human blood. This was not the way I wanted to start out my morning, and I wasn't in the mood to deal with more blood. I was about to shove the bowl away and grab something else, but suddenly, someone bumped into me and knocked the blood down my sweater.

"Hey, watch it!" I shouted, gripping my sweater with anguish. "Damn it, I love this swea…!"

When I looked up, I was looking into the face of a boy I barely recognized, but somehow struck me as so familiar that I froze mid-sentence. His face was inhumanly pale and his spiky black hair now bore red streaks, and he was wearing near-literal pounds of eyeliner, so much that it was dripping down his face and he wasn't even crying. I was amazed that he could see through all of that gunk. His lips were painted black and his glasses had been discarded, replaced instead with red contact lenses that appeared similar to Draco's. Despite the makeup, I was able to recall who this boy was, and was therefore shocked to glance at his forehead and not see the trademark lightning-bolt scar. I did, however, notice stubble on his chin, and the sexy English accent that he and everyone else in the school, the town, the district, and even the depths of the Forbidden Forest spoke with because we were in England. He looked exactly like Joel Madden, except that he wasn't Joel Madden, therefore, he looked like Harry Potter who was sort of dressed like Joel Madden. When I had gotten a good look at him, I felt an inexplicable rush of heat to my groin, and I had to quickly shove my hand into my blood-soaked pocket to hold down my sparking erection, meanwhile trying to force images of pig carcasses and pole-dancing nuns into my head.

"I'm so sorry." He murmured shyly.

I swallowed hard, gritting my teeth, then managed to inhale and regain my composure. "It's alright, just please try to be more careful." Finding myself starting to fall flaccid again, I crossed my legs and pulled out my wand. After muttering a curt "Scourgify" and removing the stain from my shirt, I added, "What's your name, by the way?" despite that I already knew.

In response, he offered a weak grumble. "My name's Harry Potter, although most people call me Vampire these days."

The highly uncreative nickname piqued my curiosity. "Why?"

"Because I love the taste of human blood." The bloke actually giggled those words in broad daylight, and I simply shook my head.

"I'm not sure what's lead you toward that kind of unorthodox diet, but to call you 'Vampire' of all things, really. Have kids got no imagination anymore? You're 'The Boy Who Lived', and 'The Chosen One' and all that, why not come up with something more fitting of your standing? Maybe, 'The Rosen One'? Like rose, for blood…no, that's stupid. Hmm…" I let out a chuckle, realizing how trivial this conversation was getting. "But really, I don't see why people are surprised. You've been through a lot of shit in your life, and the entire school owes you their lives about six-fold by now. You're even destined to kill the Dark Lord. Hey, about that, why are you here anyway? Shouldn't you be out in a tent somewhere, diving shirtless into ice holes and talking to luminescent deer?"

"Really?" His voice was a whimper.

Geez, this kid must have had one heck of a time of things, to not even really realize where he was supposed to be. I felt sympathetic of him; I mean, he was Harry freaking Potter of all people—the kid deserved a little respect. I tried to offer a kind comment in response to his obvious dismay, but suddenly barked out a loud roar that sounded like "Yeah!", which drew a lot of attention from surrounding bystanders. Harry and I grew a bit uncomfortable, so we waited a moment before either of us spoke again.

He was happy to talk to me and pour out some problems, which I listened to placidly and offered whatever advice I could. After ten or so minutes, I felt a small tap to my back, and turned to see a rather stone-faced Draco Malfoy standing behind me. Ire still bubbled within me, but before I could snap at him, he told me that he had a surprise for me. Against my personal feelings and every iota of my better judgement, I decided to abandon Harry in favor of following the blonde. However, I made sure to keep my wand readily gripped in my right hand, should the need for self-defense arise.

**Shorter chapter.**

**Or maybe it just felt shorter to me.**

**Whatever. It's 11:45 and I'm going to bed.**

**Thanks for reading! :D**


	7. Shameless Flirting (Or Something)

**Totally lied. It's another sex scene. No sleeping for me.**

**UGHHGHGHGHGHGH. Fuck. Now I'm going to compulsively write more rape shit because I'm too committed to Adrian's character at this point. I took the path less traveled in the forest and now I have to navigate through trees and rocks and shit to get to the damn village I was headed to anyway. I'm deep in this shit now. But no matter what, I'm gonna do this.**

**(flashes sunglasses) where gonna do this.**

**Oh cod, I'm sorry, I'm tired and eyeballs-deep in a fandom too overwhelming to escape.**

**Er, god. Damn it. Fuck, someone just krill me already.**

**AGH! Kill me! I meant…! Oh, fuck it.**

**Homestuck.**

**Enjoy the next chapter.**

Chapter 7. Bring me 2 life

AN: wel ok u guyz im only writting dis cuz I got 5 god reviuws. n BTW I wont rite da nxt chapter til I git TIN god vons! STO FLAMING OR ILL REPORT U! Evony isn't a Marie Sue ok she isn't perfect SHES A SATANITS! n she has problemz shes depressed 4 godz sake! **(Please, nobody's reported anything to the FF staff in years. Why do you think we still have all this porn floating out in the open like a baby's freshly un-diapered buttocks?)**

Draco tried to hold my hand, but I wasn't ready to be sweet with him yet. I followed him down the stairs, a few steps behind, attempting to keep my wand concealed. As we retreated from the Great Hall, I caught sight of Harry, and waved an awkward, apologetic goodbye to him. Dark misery was in his depressed eyes, and I couldn't help but feel guilty. Of every kid in this school who had succumbed to the trend of severe gothic fashion and lugubrious behavior, he deserved to the most. I didn't consider for even a second that he was jealous that I was walking with Draco; I figured that he was upset that I was one of the only people who he had talked to (ostensibly) that hadn't made fun of him, and now I was blowing him off for someone else. Disregarding my guilt, I followed Draco DOWNSTAIRS into the DUNGEONS where the Slytherin dorms are, if this hadn't already been stressed. He led me to his dorm, and I paused, but thoughtlessly followed him inside. Without my seeing, he locked the door, then turned to me, smirking.

He came at me, tongue waiting, and passively attempted to attack my lips and probe into my mouth but, due to his passive demeanor in doing so, I was able to quickly push him off. Enthusiasm built within him, and undressed with inhuman speed, grabbing me and struggling to remove my clothes. I pushed and kicked at him, furious at him for trying at a second rape and at myself for being stupid enough to consider that he might not. With a shaking hand, I drew my wand, and pressed the tip to his throat, watching his body grow rigid. He swallowed hard, meeting my eye after a brief glimpse at my disheveled clothes.

"Oh…Draco…D-Draco!" I snarled, knuckles white and wrist trembling with the strain it took not to shove the point of my weapon through his neck. I was a Slytherin after all, and not only had this boy hurt and violated me, but he had stepped on my pride, and no one gets away with that twice. However, a blur of color in my peripheral caught my attention. I turned my gaze to an unfamiliar tattoo gracing Draco's pale arm. It was a small black heart with an arrow through it, and the word "Vampire" had been carved into the face and was bleeding crimson.

I was distracted and confused—the tattoo raised a lot of questions that I couldn't ignore. What did "Vampire" mean? Was he just into vampires? A heart would clearly refer to loving someone, right? And, the "V" was capitalized, so maybe that was someone's name. Wait…who had told me that people were calling them "Vampire"…?

I was frustrated and decided to simply not be there anymore, rather than curse Draco into a sniveling pulp, as was so tempting.

"Bastard," I hissed, shoving him away, and I turned and walked toward the door.

"No! No! But you don't understand!" Draco pleaded, but I knew too much. Even though the tattoo was barely a clue to anything and I was going to have to do a lot of serious sleuth work to even begin to unravel the story behind the vague details. I still knew too much.

"Shut your filthy mouth!" I shouted, storming out. I considered insulting the boy for possibly having AIDS, but that would have been hideously ignorant and flippant of me, and I despite my rage, I would have felt sick for so easily abandoning my morals for a petty insult.

I pounded up the stairs, Draco trailing behind me despite his nude state. To my personal disgust, I could see even in the nebulous reflection of my glasses that he was well-endowed (not that I hadn't noticed, having felt that thing inside me) and it pained me to even dwell on the fact that my manhood was substantially less impressive than his. Half trying to escape him, half looking for answers, no preemptive thinking about what I should do, I stormed into Professor Snape's classroom, somehow having known that Harry would be in there. I would have yelled, had I known what to say, but I hadn't even come up with a reason to be there. The dozens of eyes on me were making me very uncomfortable and disoriented. Was Harry the reason that I had come here? Wait, yes, he was the one that had been called "Vampire"! So had I come to ask if he was with Draco or something? Geez, to do that in class would have been pretty uncouth of me, especially because said blonde was currently stark naked and skittering after me like a newborn foal trying to follow its mother away from ravenous coyotes. A foal with a large…object hanging between its legs.

What was I supposed to do now?

**Yup. This is stuff. It's nearly 3:00 am and I'm going places tomorrow, so I really need to sleep.**

**Meh.**

**I'll write until I pass out.**


	8. Screamo Emos

**(crying)** **Why can't I do anything anymore? Everything is all OTP and emotions and feels and crying** **and chocolate and sexy sex and awful death and sadness and hnng and** **EIPTHNSIVBNPSIFATEWPINGM!**

**I'm sorry, I can't control myself**.

**I don't see why I don't just abandon my education and career and live the rest of my life composing self-indulgent crap and cosplaying. I don't need to pay for food or a house, just a computer.**

**Thanks so much to whoever's reading this. I'm getting up to the point where I cannot at all remember what happens in the story, so I'm basically reading each chapter as I write it. Best of luck following.**

**Enjoy!**

Chapter 8.

AN: stop flassing ok! if u do de prep! **(ExCUSE me, madam, I'll flass wherever and whenever I want to flass.)**

People were still staring at me when Draco ran into the room, even when he fell to his knees and started sobbing, pleading with me pathetically.

"Adrian, it's not what you think!" He simpered.

My friend B'loody (Wouldn't that make her name pronounced bee-loo-dee? Loody = loo-dee, right?) Mary Smith smiled at me in an understated manner, most likely sensing the tension in the situation and refraining from being too outward. She flipped her long, waist-length hair, which had been dyed black, and fluttered her mascara-caked eyelashes at me over the deep red contacts clinging to her corneas. This girl, who will now be identified as Hermione, was kidnapped when she was an infant from her real parents, who were vampires. One of them—though it was never known which one—was a witch. Voldemort himself killed her mother, signifying her importance as a person in the wizarding world and in the revolt against the Dark Lord's influence. Her father, on the other hand, was crippled with depression at the loss of his wife, and regrettably took his own life as a result. Hermione still has nightmares about it, despite her being a baby and possibly having been kidnapped before these events ever took place. Her expressions are also often gaunt and grim, except when she spontaneously decides to mix it up and try a smile. In addition, it turns out that her real last name is Smith, and due to the extreme commonness of that name, I was shocked that she was able to find out who her parents were. I mean, both of them were dead, after all. Oh, another thing too: despite religious values having absolutely no bearing on Sorting, she had been moved to the Slytherin house after her conversion to Satanism.

"What is it that you desire, you ridiculous dimwit!" Professor Snape angrily demanded of me, and I felt a chill go up my spine. I really couldn't help it; despite the fury and befuddlement that had gripped me, there was something about the icy, measured way that Snape snarled when he was feeling acrimonious that never failed to get me going. If I was remotely homosexual for anyone, it was that imperious, tantalizingly austere Potions master.

Distracted by my suddenly bubbling lust among the other emotions in my head, I idiotically blurted out in Harry's direction. "Are you dating Draco?"

Everyone gasped in response. Apparently, those two boys were pretty popular.

I don't know why Adrian was so mad at me. I had went out with Vampire (I'm bi and so is Adrian) for a while but then he broke my heart. He dumped me because he liked Britney, a stupid preppy fucker. We were just good friends now. He had gone through horrible problems, and now he was gothic. (Haha, like I would hang out with a prep.)

Wait, what the hell was that? Was…was I just Draco? Why the fuck was I Draco? How did I even get into his head? Is this some crazy, mind-fucky, body-swapping telepathic adventure bullshit? I didn't understand a lick of anything anymore, and basically just stopped barking and laid in my doghouse like a good little mutt. Sure, I was just Draco, whatever. I was just naked on the floor, staring up at what used to be my own ass and tasting at least six ounces of black makeup trickling down my face with my melodramatic tears. Why not? Who the fuck cares?

Point is, I was Adrian again shortly after that, and damn happy to be him.

"But I'm not going out with Draco anymore!" exclaimed Vampire.

I was completely done with all of this. I darted out of the room, out of the dungeons, out of the enormous lobby of the school where the beautiful, jewel-encrusted hourglasses framed the door, each one holding shards of a different gemstone to represent the points each house was earning. I pushed through the heavy, towering double doors and sloshed out into the snow, just running for no reason but to run. I couldn't see, couldn't even think with the burdening things overtaking my mind. By some force that really couldn't have been anything but magic, I ran like a falcon in a nose-dive, tearing across the Hogwarts grounds until, when I finally stopped, I found myself in the Forbidden Forest, right by the tree where I had been deflowered the previous night. Frustrated, confused, and despairingly fed up with this nonsense, I began to cry and kick at the tree who was responsible for the many scratches on my back.

**Starting to enter mind-fuck world. Good thing I brought an umbrella and my utility Cheetos.**

**Thanks for reading, whoever's reading. It's 3:30 and I'm never going to sleep again.**

**Love and hugs for all of you.**


	9. Thou Shalt Not Shart Thy Pants

**Why the fuck not just keep writing until my eyes bleed? I want to. This is fun, and I just took my nap-nap medicine, so it's only a matter of time before I keel over.**

**Let's play endurance run—exhaustion mode.**

**See you guys when I get out of college.**

**Enjoy the next chapter!**

Chapter 9.

AN: stop flaming ok! I dntn red all da boox! dis is frum da movie ok so itz nut my folt if dumbeldor swers! besuizds I SED HE HAD A HEDACHE! and da reson snap dosent lik harry now is coz hes christian and vampire is a satanist! MCR ROX! **(Stop besmirching MCR with your shitty spelling and annoying vocabulary. You're making them look bad.)**

I was so encumbered by emotions that I broke into heavy, rather embarrassing sobbing against the tree, abandoning my ruthless assault of its trunk. The poor thing never meant to hurt me. It was just as much a victim as I was, so out of compassion and a need to hug something, I wrapped my arms around it and nuzzled my face into the abrasive bark.

Then Voldemort appeared on a broomstick. I nearly shit my pants.

"Gah!" I yelped, and collapsed to the ground in a flurry of uncoordinated frazzlement. My eyes were wide with terror, my skin pale, blood cold, and fists clenched into the dirt as I met the gaze of the most fearsome wizard to ever step foot on the earth. He raised an ivory hand, grinning maliciously at me, and flicked his wand.

"Imperio!"

I was rendered frozen, helpless to do as his wand ordered me, but for some (if any) reason, his aim faltered, and the binding curse was broken. Sensing an opportunity to strike, I drew my chestnut and unicorn hair wand and thrust it at him, teeth grit with immense pluck.

"Stupefy!" I bellowed, and the dark wizard was knocked off his broom. I considered other spells, but a few glaring flaws made themselves evident in those options before I even had to think. A, Crookshanks is Hermione's pet cat, not a spell, and B, as a student at Hogwarts, I was not educated in how to use any of the Unforgivable Curses, and therefore would have not been experienced enough to employ the torture spell with enough power to really even sting Voldemort.

"Adrian." he yelled, collecting himself from the ground. "Thou must kill Vampire Potter!"

It took a moment to realize who he was talking about, but after a moment, the image of the black-and-red hair and the twenty-six pounds of black eyeliner resurfaced in my memory. I remembered Harry's supposedly "sexah" eyes, despite that he had the same contacts that pretty much everyone else had, and about how his face looked just like Joel Madden, except that if anybody, his face looked like Daniel Radcliffe. Regardless, I was seconds later jerked back to earth by the incapacitating terror I felt just from being within meters of the Dark Lord. I swallowed hard, struggling for any inkling of courage that could have been left in my fragile, weak little body.

"W-why?" I whimpered.

He wordlessly stepped up to me, pulling a gun out of the sleeve of his robe and placing it delicately in my hand. At first, I had no idea what the thing was. I was raised by a wizarding family after all, and the last time a wizard ever needed a gun was if they were trying to use one of those silly plastic ones to replicate one of Zonko's famous exploding toy jokes. (The bizarre, old-English way he was speaking did not at all help me to take his offer seriously.) Once I realized what had been deposited in my hand, I could only look up with the fearsome, reptilian sorcerer with timid incredulity.

"I-I…I mean no disrespect, my lord." Something about the way those last two words rolled off my tongue felt weirdly, weirdly satisfying. "But I have a wand. Ah, wait, you're right, I don't know any deadly spells. Please forgive my impertinence." I was outright groveling, but I managed to keep level-headed about it.

"Thou must!" he hissed. "If thou does not, then I shall kill thy beloved Draco!"

Oh dear. Someone had been getting his gossip from the wrong people. "Um, you really don't have to blackmail me with Draco's life. Seriously, he tried to rape me earlier today. If you want to kill him, at this point I'd say 'be my guest'. In fact, I think I'd actually be willing to kill Harry for you if you'd kill Draco for me. He's the Chosen One and all, but it's not like he takes it seriously. I mean, fuck, that specky git doesn't really have a chance of defeating you, right? Not in this pathetic state. At this point, I think it might just be better to start playing to the winning side."

The thin-faced man rolled his eyes, giving me a countenance of exasperation at my idiocy. "I hath telekinesis. And if you doth not kill Vampire, then thou know what will happen to Draco!" As he shouted these words, he straddled his broomstick and bolted, leaving a slender streak of black smog behind him. It and he faded so quickly that the echo of my voice didn't even brush them.

"I don't think you understand! I mean it, I'm willing to kill him! I'd kind of like to win your favor a little!" Geez, this guy was almost thicker than some of the students here. The potential battle between Dark Lord and Chosen Boy was starting to look more even. I had to admit though, at least Voldemort was trying to at least attempt to fulfill his part of the rivalry. Seems like all Harry did was cry, drink blood, and listen to bands whose lead singers he resembled.

Suddenly, Draco walked up behind me. My lip curled on impulse. Dealing with more flirting and brazen dipshittery was definitely not going to quell my frustration.

"Hey there, Draco," I greeted with a caustic drizzle across my words. "Glad you could make it. The Dark Lord just came and visited me—yes, at Hogwarts, imagine that!—and he informed me that if I don't kill Harry that he was going to kill you. Hate to just dump that on you, but I was really pondering what choice to make and was hoping I could get a second opinion."

"Hi." He replied.

Oh good. Clearly no impending dipshittery here.

He looked quite dismal, as usual, and was wearing a lot of foundation and eyeliner and looked kind of like a pentagram between Joel Madden and Gerard Way. Except that pentagram does not mean anything even remotely close to the word that should be in its place. It does not mean combination. It does not mean joining. It does not mean blend, association, unification, mesh, meld, mix, fusion, juxtaposition, coupling, or union. It does not even mean Polymerization. There was no way at all that his face looked like a "pentagram" between Joel Madden and Gerard Way. A pentagram is a kind of symbolic, drawn or carved figure involving an upside-down star. No more vocabulary pukes so heinous would occur within my retelling of this story from this point on. Or really, if any did, I was going to chop up a baby dolphin, make it into sushi, throw it through a time machine, and feed it to Hitler.

I rubbed my temples testily, then offered, "I don't know if you believe me, or if you think I've gone insane, but I definitely just saw the Dark Lord. He gave me this." I held up the gun. "I have to kill Harry. If I don't, you will die. Do you understand?"

"No." He answered bluntly.

Oop, there went just a bit of anger-vomit bubbling up in my throat. "Okay, alright. That's fine. I hadn't decided if I was gonna kill the bloke anyway. At this point, I think he'd be better company than you. You're really getting on my nerves, and I'm scared to be left alone with you. I'm just going to go back to my dorm and try and sort this out. I want you to stay away from me and stop following me. Got that?"

"That's okay." Draco murmured. Even as I left, he padded behind me like he was safety-pinned to my shadow. I snarled, trying to speed up. He matched my footfalls. Then, at a moment where I slowed for just a moment, he took a grab at my jaw and tried to pull me to kiss me. With no hesitation, I punched him fiercely in the stomach, my eyes dark and unforgiving.

"Touch me again and I'll tear out your intestines."

With that, I walked the rest of the way to the castle and retreated behind the heavy double doors.

**Derp, derp, derp, derp.**

**I feel like I should try harder to make Adrian fit into Ebony's freaking character, but I don't want to. This is too fun, and I can vent all my harbored bitchy into making Adrian deal with this shit. It's almost therapeutic. **

**Thanks to whoever's reading at this point. Sorry you have to put up with my bullshit, but hey, no one's making you read it. I hope somebody's enjoying it so far!**

**Love and hugglies!**


	10. Logical Fallacy

**Ugnf, being Adrian getting bitchy and frustrated makes me happy. It makes me happy because I was stupid enough to try and tackle this fucking story and now I'm suffering for it, and being bitchy Adrian lets me express some degree of my severe annoyance with the author of the original.**

**Not that my pain isn't totally my fault. Blaming other people just helps me deal with it.**

**You there, you in the blue shirt. Yes you, with the bowl and spoon in your hand and that deadpan, "holy shit how can this person see me" look in your eyes.**

**This is your fault too.**

**I don't know how, but it is.**

**So…knock it off. I'm getting a headache.**

**To the rest of you, enjoy! :D**

Chapter 10.

AN: stup it u gay fags if u donot lik ma story den fukk off! ps it turnz out b'loody mary isn't a muggle afert al n she n vampire r evil datz y dey movd houses ok! **((testily taps foot) 'Scuse me, miss. I don't believe you're allowed to say "fag". That's not your word to use.)**

I was angry, fearful, very temperamental, and super, SUPER not in the mood to deal with shit. What I needed now was to take a long, hot bath full of bubbles, soothing oils, and linen/lavender scented candles. I also needed to play some Regina Spektor and Imogen Heap, and I needed a big ass box of fucking chocolate whatevers. Anything chocolate. To my chagrin, however, I was dragged to rehearsals with my band, "Bloody Gothic Rose 666" (pardon the name, "Darkness-Drenched Blood-Sucking Whimper-Wads was already taken) in which I was the lead singer and I also played guitar. I really didn't want to, and had never agreed to, and for that matter had never agreed to be in the band. When the other members saw my long hair, though, I think they instantly thought that I was the "death-metal" type and shoved a big, electric six-string into my hands. I couldn't play the thing for shit. I have no coordination when it comes to trying to execute complex patters and I'm absolutely tone-deaf. Apparently, that doesn't matter at all to them. "Them", the other members of this group being Hermione, Harry, Draco, Ron (although he supposedly goes by "Diabolo" now, and (unsurprisingly) has conformed to the hyper-grim fad like everyone else in the school), and Hagrid, despite Hagrid being a teacher and a half-giant, which meant that he could only play the drums and his ludicrous strength broke them half the time. I have no idea how we could have all been in a band together that not only had a name, but also held regular rehearsals, and yet somehow, I had not known that Draco was dating Harry at any time, and really, I hadn't talked to Draco much beyond an occasional morning greeting in passing.

Today, Draco and Harry were depressed as usual, and Draco was nursing a hefty bruise on his upper stomach, so the two of them decided to forgo practice and leave the rest of us to write the music. We were running out of synonyms for "dark", "blood", "death", and "depression", so it was getting to be a pretty dragging afternoon. I was frankly glad that Draco wasn't there, and even considering my earlier thoughts about how cutting was a real, serious problem and that it wasn't much of a laughing matter, I secretly reveled a bit in the idea that the little slimy bastard was probably taking a razor to his skin at that moment. It wasn't like he was going to die or anything. Obviously, he was a vampire like a lot of other random people in the school and was immortal unless impaled through the heart by a wooden stake.

As this thought occurred to me, I mentally slapped myself for perceiving Voldemort's earlier threat as legitimate danger. Fuck, Draco couldn't die easily, so what was I worried about? If Voldy took a stake to him, fine, but I wasn't sure if he even knew the kid was a vampire. Either way, the realization lessened my worry a little and strengthened my ire. Perhaps later today I'd see if it was possible to beat an immortal being to death.

My musings drifted to Harry, the more favorable of the two morons who, for some strange reason, seemed to be vying for my affections. The bespectacled teen was probably watching a Tim Burton movie—as the boy had good taste in quality, artistically Gothic cinema—like "The Corpse Bride".

Oh, I had also been in my bloomers this whole time (perhaps that's why Draco and Harry had avoided coming to practice) so I decided to get dressed. I pulled on a white dress shirt with articulate black embroidery on the collar and the hem where the buttons connected, a dark brown leather vest with a few bronze chains crossing the small pocket on each breast, black jeans, dark brown boots with bronze gears and chains up the heel, and dark brown, leather, fingerless gloves with round bronze studs on the knuckles. I also pulled my hair up into a ponytail and tied a black silk ribbon into it. If this wasn't a day for high-end, Steampunk fashion, I didn't know what was. You might think I'm a slut, but if you do, you're really into this style, so I like you. Fantasize about me as you please; you exist beyond the Fourth Wall and therefore do not directly affect me.

We were singing a cover of "Helena Beat" by Foster the People (because I said so), and at the end of the song, I let out of heavy sigh and sat down on the end of a nearby trunk, rubbing my temples. I think to my band mates, it looked like I was crying.

"Adrian! Are you OK?" B'loody Mary/Hermione chirped with concern.

"Ah, god, I'm fine," I replied gruffly, my face buried into the sweet-smelling leather of my gloves. "I'm just stressed. Really stressed, because the world seems to be falling to total confusion and nothing I've ever known makes sense anymore. Voldemort came to see me, did you know that? Voldemort came to see me in the freaking Forbidden Forest. He told me that if I didn't kill Harry that he'd kill Draco, but to be honest, I can't decide what to do. Everything around me is losing meaning and my life is becoming one huge clusterfuck. It's only been a few hours since I've seen the Dark Lord, and I didn't even think to go to Dumbledore. I've just been flittering around, changing my clothes, playing Indy Rock in a Death Metal band, and thinking longingly about lavender bubble baths and dark chocolate cremes. Would it really be so bad to live in a world ruled by Voldemort, after all of this? Honestly, what have I got to lose?"

Suddenly, Draco appeared in the doorway.

"Why didn't you fucking tell me!" He roared. "How could you- you- you fucking poser muggle bitch!"

It took a moment for the situation to impact me, and I just looked up with total aloof disinterest. "Really, pal? You didn't hear that whole spiel in the Forbidden Forest? Or was the entire point of following me to get me alone so you could put your filthy, spoiled hands on me again?"

He whimpered pitifully, then burst into tears, fleeing from the room. My frustration was softening into bitter, exhausted acceptance, and I just picked up my guitar and resumed shittly strumming it while the rest of the band pounded out sick rhythms behind me. After about an hour, our half-hearted jam session was interrupted by Dumbledore stomping over the threshold of our practice room, lips pursed and eyes ablaze.

"What have you done!" He cried in a strangely wise manner. "Adrian Draco has been found in his room. He committed suicide by slitting his wrists."

**It's almost 1:00 am on a school night. I was kept up until 1:00 last night by a hoard of screaming cows outside my window (I'm not even kidding). Do you understand how sickening this is? I desperately needed sleep and I just fucking can't sleep because my brain is too drugged out on shitty writing.**

**Fuck, it's like…it's like heroine. I don't know. I can't even think anymore. Point is, this story is so painful to write, and yet, for some reason, I just can't stop.**

**So, yeah, I'm going to bed or something.**

**Probably not.**

**(helpless sobbing)**

**Please support my eternal writer's damnation with reviews and Tylenol. That would be appreciated.**

**See you later, Space Cowboy(s).**


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